


Distraught Memories and Countless Faults

by ErinMoore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 00:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinMoore/pseuds/ErinMoore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a 17 year old who struggles with himself. He hates how he looks in the mirror, how he always lets some one down, he hates himself. His self loathing leads to a mental hospital and a strange doctor named Dr. Novak.<br/>Dean, unfortunately doesn't want to open up, he is too hard headed. Dr. Novak has to learn what makes Dean tick all the while Dean becomes a selective mute.</p><p>P.S. if you find any errors or something that doesn't make sense then tell me. I haven't read through it enough... And I am doing all of this on a crappy iPod. So yeah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distraught Memories and Countless Faults

~Dean~

I guess most of my problems started when I was little. Having had my mother burned to death at the age of five wasn't one of the best things someone could have happen to them. To top of the mess I practically raised my younger brother while my dad became a drunk.  
Unfortunately for me, I wasn't one of the people that could easily cope with these things. I guess the pressure of having to be a father to my brother, having to protect him from my abusive father, the pressure broke me. I tried so hard to hide it. I tried so hard to mask it away.  
I felt I did quite well at first. I felt with all the crap that was thrown at me. I tried. However, it didn't last long. The small thread kept fraying and it eventually snapped.  
At the age of 16 I finally snapped. I couldn't stand the face I saw in the mirror, the face my father yelled words of disappointment at. I hated myself. I had lost the will to continue. At first I did small things, things that slowly moved to me hurting myself. It was odd at first. The first time I felt the crimson red blood flow from my wrist, the first time I felt the pain, it felt like a small weight had been lifted. So I kept doing it. Around my 17 birthday, I started feeling better, which oddly, started to affect my dad. My improved attitude slowly started to change how my dad acted. Which provided me with more incentive to continue with the cutting.  
Then, out of no where, mummy dad stopped drinking. I hadn't noticed at first, the I saw that there was no alcohol in the fridge, no more liquor on his breath.  
The surprise to find my father cleaned up was amazing. I felt that things would keep better. But my addiction to cutting my wrists was beyond stopping. I couldn't fight the urge to do it.  
Whenever I saw my face in the mirror, whenever someone had slight disappointment in me, I couldn't stop. My father and brother were getting along. Sammy had started to smile more. He felt happier. I could sense that he felt maybe we would be a better family.  
I had everything under control. I had it all figured out. Or so I thought.  
I slipped up.  
I messed up.  
I had had a terrible day at school. I had failed a math test and rushed home in anger. I slammed the door to my room and raced to the bathroom. The urge to bleed myself was too strong. I needed to feel the pain. I needed to suffer to make myself feel better.  
I didn't focus on anything else but the cut. I hadn't noticed that Sammy was already home. I hadn't figured that he would come to check on me. I hadn't heard him enter my room. Nor did I hear his footsteps. I only focused on the flowing blood in the sink.  
The silence snapped when a stifled gasp came from behind me. I turned around quickly to see Sammy standing by my door, hand clasped over his mouth, the blood on my wrist dribbled on to the floor.  
"D-Dean?" Sammy's voice was filled with fear and pain. Tears filled his eyes as he stared at me.  
"Dean. What are you-" he froze. I could tell he had the urge to get dad. He had the urge to call out, get help.  
I quickly wrapped my wrist with a towel and grabbed Sam by the arm. I sat him down on the bed, tears kept flowing down his face.  
"Look, Sammy, it's not what you think." I tried. To no avail.  
He stood, like he had been burned by my words. He took one step back, I tried to grab him, tried to have him sit down so I could explain it to him. The 13 year old was to fast. He bolted for the door. I froze for a moment as I listened to his pounding steps down the stairs. I heard his shouting. Then panic filled me. I raced to the bathroom to clean up the mess. Too late. My father entered to room and found me trying to clean the bloody sink and floor.  
His first reaction was fear, like Sam. He thought it was an accident. Then his face twisted to panic as he grabbed my and ran my wrist under the cold faucet. He barked at Sam to get the first aid kit.  
My mind raced. He would yell at me. He would probably turn to violence. I knew he would be ashamed of me.  
I stared down at the bloody water and started to faze out what was happening. Probably the loss of blood. My eyes started to droop. I was dragged to my bed to get my wrist sewn. I could barely walk. I felt my knees give and I hit the floor. My eyes tried to fight the darkness. It swarmed over me quickly and I was consumed. 

~Castiel~

I felt the cool rain poor down onto my face. I had forgotten my umbrella in a quick race to get to work. I had accidentally slept in. Unfortunately, I had a major hangover and the work I did never helped.  
I needed to straighten myself out. People relied on me. Sure I was new, but I was responsible, I was in charge. I had finally finished schooling and became the doctor I wanted to be. I wanted to help people. But sometimes helping people wasn't successful. Especially the job I had. I was a doctor at a medical facility here in Minnesota. I was a doctor that helped people who struggled with themselves. Those who couldn't survive by themselves.  
That was probably the only reason I became a doctor. I had many people who relied on me to help them through their lives. And I was successful at helping them. That's what struck me to pursue the career.  
I stepped trough the door and the air in the building felt different. I sensed something new. Once I reached my office I stopped, turned, and realised that the chairs were filled. New patient.  
I quickly glanced at the three that sat there. An older gentleman and two young boys. This didn't look good. A smile came to my face as I walked over to introduce myself and lead them into my office.  
"Hello. My name is Dr. Novak. How may I help you, Mr..." I shook his hand.  
"Winchester. John. These are my boys. Dean and Sam." He grunted in a low voice. I nodded.  
"Come on into my office and we will find out what you need." I smiled again.  
Once settled I pulled out my notebook and smiled at the three.  
"So why are we here today?" I asked.  
The older man, John nudged one of the boys. The boy rolled his eyes and glared at the ground. John sighed.  
"Dean just got released from the hospital yesterday. The doctors said to come here. They said you could help." Johns voice was shaky when he finished.  
"Why was Dean in the hospital?"  
"Dean. Show him." Johns voice tensed. I could tell he didn't like what would follow. My eyes drifted down as Dean reluctantly rolled up his sleeves to reveal his wrists covered in bandages.  
I started writing. "How long had this been going on?" I asked, not looking up.  
No response. That made me lift my head. Dean was looking hard at the ground, not wanting to answer.  
"Dean. Answer him." Johns voice started to get louder. "Dean. Now." He pushed. Dean only shifted in his seat.  
"Mr. Winchester, maybe I should speak to Dean alone." The man only nodded and stood, pulling his younger son out of the room.  
"Now that we are alone, Dean, will you answer my question?" His eyes looked at me. A beautiful shade of green. They looked so innocent.  
"About a year." He mumbled softly.  
At least he talked. I begrudgingly asked the next question.  
"Why?" That all I had to ask. His eyes widened, not really knowing how to even start explaining.  
I could see that he knew why, he knew what he told himself over and over, but now, now he didn't know what to say.  
"I-I don't-" he stammered.  
"Dean. There has to be a reason. Why?" I asked again.  
"Bu- I-I don't know." His hands fidgeted. He knew why. 

~Dean~ 

I rubbed the tip of my thumb on my palm and glared at my wrists. I didn't want to answer. I knew why. I knew the real reason I cut.  
"Dean." His voice broke through my thoughts again. "Dean, please."  
Tears threatened to escape my eyes as I looked up. "It was the only way." I spoke, my voice catching as sobs broke through.  
The man stood and dropped down beside me, pulling me into a hug. I didn't expect this kindness. I didn't deserve this kindness. I sobbed into his shoulder and cried years of pain away.  
Once my eyes had dried, I pushed him away, not wanting this. I did not want to open up.  
He stood and sat back at his desk. I saw a slight sadness in his eyes. Dammit. It was my fault. It was always my fault. I caused pain.  
"Dean, I need to know more. Please let me help you." I shook my head, refusing to speak anymore. I turned away and refused to look back at the man. He sighed, stood, and opened the door. I sat there. My body was aching with pain. The memories of all the hurt I caused surged through my body. I was a failure.  
Distant voices caught my attention as I heard my dad start yelling. Words of reassuring flowed from the doctors mouth.  
He assured my dad that he could help. What could he help with? There was no use for me to live, so what was the point. My fingers started to twitch and I got uncomfortable. The urge to bleed once more filled my mind. I glanced around, trying to find anything sharp. My breath started to get shaky. I needed to cut. I felt as if the world would collapse if I didn't. I spotted a staple remover, the sharp edges glistened. I quickly grabbed it and pulled it apart, freeing one of the blades. I unraveled the bandage on my wrist to see the stitches. I gritted my teeth. With one quick motion I pushed into my flesh. I felt the ripping of my skin. I felt satisfaction. The pain filled me. It felt good.  
A gasp broke me from my trance and I turned. Dr. Novak stood in the door way. A flashback to a couple days ago flashed through my mind, I felt myself pale. His reaction was different. His face was filled with worry and concern, not fear or panic. He pulled off his lab coat and wrapped it around my wrist, throwing the blade in the trash.  
"Dean." He whispered softly. His voice was different. I could feel that he wasn't disappointed in me. I felt sadness for letting down the man that trusted me alone in his office.  
"Dean!" My dads booming voice came from behind as he yelled angrily.  
"Mr. Winchester, please calm down. I have this handled. We already discussed what to so next, please leave." Mr. Novak's voice was calm, but stern as he stared down my dad.  
My dad grunted once and turned, pulling Sammy with him. I felt a twinge in my heart as I saw Sammy's face filled with tears.  
I had did it again. 

~Castiel~ 

I had gotten Dean sewn up and into his room. I found him one that was close to my office, Dean needed trust, but he also needed to rely on someone. I tried to talk to him again as I stitched up his wrist, but his mouth formed a solid line, refusing to speak.  
He forced himself to look anywhere but my face. I pleaded for a while, worried. I soon gave up and left him to his new room. He would be staying for a while.  
I started to categorize him, as I did with all patients. I listed problems and possible solutions. I made notes on things I noticed, reminded myself to get more background history, then finished up for the night.  
Dean seemed like an interesting person, he felt different. I have met numerous people who have harmed themselves to find comfort but his way of doing things seemed different. His words filled my mind again, 'it's the only way'. His eyes were pleading me to understand without knowing. I needed to know. I craved it. Which was very odd for me. I had never been this interested in a patient before, but he was different. Some how.  
It was strange, how I hugged him when he cried, I normally don't do things like that. But he seemed so lost and defenseless. He looked like he was the one who was responsible and in charge, but now was the time for someone to take care of him.  
The next day found me and him in my office again. He still resisted to talk. According to the orderlies, he hasn't talked once since he got to his room.  
"Dean. Are you deciding to become mute now?" I asked, setting down my notepad.  
He nodded. Bewildered, I leaned forward. Selective mute-ism? Interesting.  
"So since you aren't talking, I guess I can't get any information from you about yourself, correct." He nodded.  
"I guess I have to ask your father." His face filled with panic as he shook his head. "Then what Dean? I need to help you. You need to let me in. For that to happen, we need to converse." He glanced about the room. He reached forward and snatched the notepad and pen off my desk.  
He scribbled and turned it to me. 'Hi, I am Dean Winchester, 17. Nice to meet you. Conversational enough for you?' Hmm.. Cocky, this one.  
"Yes. I guess this works. I can have the orderlies get you a white board and marker, if you prefer to talk like this." I wasn't about to push him too out of his comfort zone. If he wanted to stay mute, I'll let him.  
He nodded, and straightened, obviously happy that he didn't have to talk.  
I leaned forward and he instinctively leaned back.  
"Dean. I know you can speak to me now. So I have to ask. Why do you cut yourself?"

**Author's Note:**

> So I'll update when I can. As soon as possible. Really excited to write this. I have a lot of ideas. Hope you enjoy and stay with me. :)


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